


Sleep Tight

by Liadt



Category: Adam Adamant Lives!
Genre: F/M, One sided, Pre-Relationship, not very shippy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-17
Updated: 2016-03-17
Packaged: 2018-05-25 13:26:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6196774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liadt/pseuds/Liadt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This wasn’t how Georgie imagined sharing the same bed with Adam would be like.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleep Tight

Down a long, white corridor, deep within the Institute of Slumber, Adam kept pace with Miss Lavender Honey’s brisk walk. She was an attractive, young woman. She wore a white coat over a lilac dress and carried a clipboard. Hurrying to keep up with Adam was Georgie, carrying an overnight bag. Lagging further behind was Simms. He was dragging a huge trunk belonging to Adam, as well as carrying his own case. As they continued further into the building, they heard sheep ‘baa’-ing and alarm clocks ringing behind closed doors and the smell of ovaltine wafted down the corridor. 

Lavender paused by one of the doors and waited for everyone to catch up with her. “And here we have the Coverlet Suite.” She opened the door and let the others go in front of her.

They filed into a windowless room. The walls, floor tiles, wardrobe and sink were all white. Directly opposite them, pushed against the wall, was an extra wide bed. It had a pink candlewick bedspread, purple padded headboard and plump, frilly edged pillows. Georgie felt it looked out of place in the otherwise clinically designed room.

“For each sleep session the bed will have a different type of bedding: first weighted blankets, then a continental quilt, a silk comforter and finally nothing at all,” explained Lavender. “The sensors in the wall will measure the quality of your sleep.” Lavender put her hand on the wall behind the bed. There was a series of circular grills set in the wall. Some housed flashing lights, others housed microphones and other devices. 

“If the Institute aims to improve the sleeping quality of the Nation, shouldn’t the bed be of a size that can reasonably be expected to fit in the average residence’s bedroom?” asked Adam.

“Dear me, no. I suppose you could all squeeze into a double, but I wouldn’t want one of you to fall out. The psychological trauma could permanently ruin your sleep, which is against our scientific principles,” said Lavender. 

Adam’s mouth set in a line that showed his dismay over the implications of Lavender’s words. 

“Shouldn’t Miss Jones have her own quarters or share with other young women?” Adam said.

Lavender shook her head. “For our research project we want to observe the sleeping habits of women, the upper classes and the lower orders together, which makes you the ideal study group.”

“Does that make women better or worse than men?” mused Georgie. 

“I can kip on the floor, sir. I’ve had worse digs,” offered Simms.

Georgie was initially impressed with Simms leaping to be chivalrous before Adam, but then decided it was probably some master servant convention she was unaware of. 

“On the floor, you would be out of range of the sensors,” said Lavender, ruling Simms’ idea out. “The study can’t be done if you don’t share the same bed.”

Adam looked most uncomfortable.

Georgie wondered if Adam would back out, momentarily, but, when it came to it, she couldn’t imagine him abandoning their best chance to find out if the Slumber Institute had any connection to the murder of the organisation’s main investor, Lady Hanford-Watts.

With no further questions forthcoming, Lavender asked if they would like a hot, milky drink. The consensus was that they were fine without one and she left them to get ready for bed. 

“Don’t worry, with chaperone Simms here, he’ll protect your reputation,” said Georgie.

“Chaperones are for the safety of ladies,” corrected Adam. He glanced around the room as if searching for an escape exit. 

“As I don’t want to offend your stuffiness, it’s lucky I brought a nightie with me. I don’t normally wear anything in bed at this time of year.” Georgie lifted her case and smiled at Adam like she was doing him a good turn. 

Adam blanched as he eyed Georgie’s bag. “Your case is not of a size to contain a night dress without it bulging at the seams.”

“There’s nothing in there that could possibly horrify you - my nightie isn’t much shorter than my dress.” Georgie took her nightie out of her bag and held against it herself to prove the truth of her claim. “See, it isn’t that bad,” she said and smoothed creases out of the alarmingly sheer garment.

“Mr Adamant is of the opinion the less we see of you the better, which, I have to say, I whole heartedly agree with,” interjected Simms. 

“Well, we can’t just stand in the middle of the room,” said Georgie, getting fed up with Victorian values.

“All is not quite lost,” said Simms.

“You haven’t got a voluminous, old-fashioned ladies' nightie in your case, have you, Simms? I wouldn’t want to steal your nightgown off you,” said Georgie, with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. 

Simms curled his lip at her, but it was more out of habit than in real offence.

****

This wasn’t how Georgie imagined sharing the same bed with Adam would be like, but it was very nice all the same, she thought and snuggled up to a sleeping Adam. She curled her hand around the lapel of his jacket and gave a happy sigh. This movement prompted Simms, who was on the other side of her, to emit an ear-splitting snore before his head dropped on to her shoulder. Adam’s response was a genteel snore. It was as if he was setting an, unconscious, example of how one should snore in front of a lady. Georgie downgraded her assessment to very nice if she had thought to bring earplugs with her. And she would have liked to have changed out of the shift dress she had been wearing since the morning. Still, at least she was warm and cosy. And comfortable too; Adam’s clothing wasn’t as starchy as its owner was. 

In any case, there was always tomorrow night. By the end of the week she might have Adam down to his shirt, with the sleeves rolled up, or even see an ankle. Or was it only ladies’ ankles that were scandalous, wondered Georgie as she dozed off.


End file.
